Thursday, May 07, 2015


two-lane near derby,
th’customs guy won’t mind th’lack ‘f cash,
and, nice day for walking

made his own cabin,
headwaters ‘f th’connecticut
end ‘f june, takes ‘s art t’town

small-town fourth parade,
a texan learns - vermont too
was once a country

barre picnic – th’kid
likes th’fisher, who kills th’porc’pine
without getting hurt

hard work, rocky soil
neighbors, frog run farm kids got
something in common

old yards, train hist'ry,
weeds and granite, fresh coffee -
white river junction


at th’top ‘f mount mansfield,
even ‘n july, th’cold harsh wind –
th’boots hold to th’granite


mime ‘t th’festival ‘f fools
country folk crowd ‘long church street,
but hesitate t’laugh

fresh eggs ‘n’ black coffee –
th’old guy ‘n th’weeds, th’history ‘f trains
‘n white river junction

white river junction
th’old man tells how th’states’re diff’rent
might look th’same from th’train

hiking in the greens,
she steps between bear and cub -
moment's grace prevails

fam'ly in bristol,
deep ponds on the new haven
cleanse her of judgment

farmer slows down, miffed
by august big city traffic -
streets of rutland

lentil soup ‘n’ potatoes –
th’spuds’re fresh picked, only thing ‘t grows
‘n th’rocky kingdom soil

kingdom soil's rocky -
but those kids got something from
their back forty

green mountain valley –
th’white steeple, th’perfect center,
th’leaves turn around it

stowe maid's illusions,
she says, like those ginkgo leaves -
lost 'm all in one day

read twenty classics
hopes t’finish de maupassant
in th’deer hill lean-to

through hiker in greens -
somehow stopped seeing colors
't thirty miles a day

colors ‘f saint johnsb’ry
town square sage, wisdom’s easy
when his wood’s all cut


meadow, stand ‘f maples
from l a t’th’farm in essex,
then he stopped trav’ling

guy’s like th’fall colors
‘f saint johnsbury – knows th’cold, but
can’t help showing off

in th’back, th’welsh hiker –
gap ‘n understanding, but th’leaves
‘f th’kent road blaze ‘n glory

through hiker, dazed ‘n’ tired
in th’greens, pushing f’r katahdin,
th’colors’ve begun t’fade

quite th’pretty picture,
tucked in th’flaming greens, th’village –
only guess th’drama

back ‘f th’tiny wagon,
third hiker, packs ‘n then th’fiddle –
from th’or’nge square, th’road t’kent

climbs up into greens,
flees raked leaves, small town, old flame
for th'nomad's campfire

tried t’sell him rabbits,
‘n th’french car – back t’ward burlington,
th’first snows catch him

speaks fluent russian –
light snow ‘n th’silent middlebury,
‘n’ there’s no one t’talk to

christmas tree farmer’s
truck’s loaded – looks ‘t th’blanket ‘f stars,
points it down seven

stowe ski holiday
interrupted - car off road,
flipped over on skis

wintered at stowe f'years,
didn't know how cold it was
'til his tire went flat

killington snow queen –
good figure, nice tan from th’slopes,
th’men’ll pay for her wine

ferrisburgh farmer,
holtz house woodpile makes it clear
he’s seen a bit ‘f snow


icy winding roads –
th’covered bridges ‘t northfield falls
put some risk in ‘s life (1-18)

snowed in, brattleboro
even in a friendly town,
‘t’s like solitary

snowed in, brattl’boro
th’scholar didn’t reckon with
th’forces of nature

near plainfield, th’blizzards
back 'n th’days ‘f th’communes, th’newcomers
stayed real close to th’fire

northeast kingdom roads
look alike, snow on signs, wound
up in canada...

fifty years milking
vermont cows - goes south one march
and has heart attack

milked cows ‘n th’horse farm road
fifty years they did th’same thing,
took a break ‘n march, ‘n’ died

fresh maple syrup,
she gives him rutland's finest -
in french, stammered praise

old kingdom farmer –
cows loose, tracks in th’mud – ‘fraid they
went up t’canada

may rains, kingdom roads,
crowded car, soft voice, her dream –
organic farming

mud season drizzle –
she’s not sure norton townsfolk
really know nothing


barre mechanic –
one curse f’r th’mud, but works deftly
t’get th’old truck running

th’towns make th’decisions –
tells ‘bout th’earth day montpelier
voted t’go solar

blooming laurel’s tale –
parts ‘f lost pond bog are squishy,
but that’s where i live

they like th’hillside pinks,
th’yellows ‘n th’greens, but he prefers
th’laurels ‘f lost pond bog

lots ‘f fish ‘n otter creek
stay on th’road, though, mud season,
it’s easy t’get stuck

to th’morgan horse farm,
may morn, t’shovel, but at lunch,
nixon on th’t v


welsh hiker, road t’kent
she gives him th’best jar of her
fresh maple syrup

mud season farmer
asked if he knows which way to
barre, says just "yes"

vacationing ‘n th’greens
leaves th’mud ‘n th’new york plates, t’avoid
th’disdain of th’locals

stopped in montpelier -
this dusty boxcar, refuge
from constant june rains

kingdom wanderer
crossed border by accident -
spent june explaining

on foot ‘n middlebury
only th’locusts seem t’use th’roads,
whole night t’get t’new york


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